There were two wall seats covered in cushions but these were ragged and faded. There was very little in the way of furniture except two grease-covered trestle tables on the dais as well as a number of makeshift benches and stools. On one bench, pushed against the wall, sat three lack-lustre figures. They stood up as Corbett entered. The two guards looked morose and greasy-haired, while Lecroix, skull-faced under a mop of tousled black hair, was rather obese with an unkempt moustache and beard to hide his hare lip.

'Let us make ourselves comfortable,' Branwood suggested.

Benches and stools were moved into a horseshoe pattern, everyone self-consciously taking their seats as Sir Peter once again introduced Corbett.

'Sir Peter,' he began briskly, trying to dispel the tension, 'tell me once again what happened on the night Sir Eustace died.'

'We all gathered here. The food was rancid as usual. The cook said it was roast pork but it was wet, soggy and tasted of salt.'

This drew a snigger from his companions.

'Some of us drank ale, others wine.' Sir Peter stroked his chin, trying to remember. 'There was a dish of vegetables and some marchpane.'

'And nothing happened at the meal?' asked Corbett.

'Those who were hungry ate, then as usual we sat about talking.'

'Sir Eustace included?' 'Yes.'

'For how long?'

Corbett studied the faces of the rest of Branwood's household; from their expressions he deduced the sheriff was telling the truth.

'Oh, about an hour and a half, then we went to bed.'

'And what happened next?'

'I was up early the next morning. As I have explained, I had been unwell all night,' Branwood continued. 'I attended mass and came down here to break my fast. I expected Sir Eustace to be here. When he wasn't, I went up to his chamber and asked the two guards if he had risen.'

They shook their heads as if anticipating Corbett's question.